


Ride Along

by dracoqueen22



Series: Master and Commander [8]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM Scene, Bondage, Cock Ring, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: For Bluestreak, it’s about control. And yet, there are times Jazz manages to strip it from him far too easily.





	

This was supposed to be a challenge for Jazz, but somehow Bluestreak was the one struggling to focus.   
  
His grip on his datapad was shaky. He pretended to read the text, admitting only to himself that he’d long forgotten what it was about. Frankly, it wasn’t that important compared to what Jazz was doing right now.   
  
Every bit of available processing data was too busy watching Jazz, focusing on the sensations his pet was evoking in him.   
  
Bluestreak worked his intake, resisting the urge to touch.   
  
Jazz currently straddled Bluestreak’s left leg, his panels open, but his spike encircled by a ring which kept him pressurized, but unable to overload. He leaked transfluid steadily, however, and it kept dripping to paint Bluestreak’s thigh. Each droplet joined the streaks of lubricant Jazz left behind from his bared valve, swollen and plush lips grinding over and over against Bluestreak’s armor as Jazz rolled his hips, desperately riding Bluestreak’s thigh.   
  
His hands were cuffed behind his back, all the better to keep him from touching. He hadn’t been gagged, because Bluestreak wanted to hear every pant, every moan. He watched as Jazz licked his lips, his visor flickering, and heat radiated downward from his valve. He moved to an internal rhythm, a song only he could hear.   
  
He was fragging gorgeous.   
  
Bluestreak had ordered him not to overload, and even now, could see the struggle within Jazz. His pet’s field flexed, pushing out with drizzling fire. His ventilations came in sharp bursts. His armor trembled. He leaked so steadily that both Bluestreak’s thigh and the berth cover beneath his leg were soaked.   
  
Jazz’s knees dug into the berth as he ground down, tilting forward to catch his anterior node cluster against Bluestreak’s plating. Each motion was meant to chase an overload Bluestreak had yet to grant him.   
  
Bluestreak’s spark throbbed. The datapad crackled in his grip. He wanted nothing more than to snatch Jazz off his thigh, press him down into the berth, and lick him to overload. For Jazz to soak his face with lubricant, making all of those delicious moans and gasps as he always did. Jazz was an enthusiastic and vocal lover and Bluestreak appreciated both.   
  
_Slide. Scrape. Gasp._   
  
Bluestreak worked his intake. His gaze slid to the side, unable to tear his optics away from the roll of Jazz’s hips, the puddle of lubricant beneath him, the flickering of his biolights, the swollen pulse of his anterior node. Every other roll forward scrubbed Jazz’s node against Bluestreak’s armor, prompting a shudder from Jazz.   
  
Headlights flickered as Jazz’s shoulders hunched. He gasped again, humping Bluestreak’s thigh harder, his nub rubbing again and again over a transformation seam. Charge spilled out from beneath Jazz’s armor, crackling over his paint. He made a low whine in his intake, his field volcanic with need.   
  
Bluestreak set the datapad aside. Frag pretending to concentrate.   
  
He reached for Jazz’s jaw and gently tilted his pet’s head upward, so he could peer into a dimming visor.   
  
“Are you close?” he asked, stroking his thumb over Jazz’s bottom lip.   
  
Jazz’s glossa swept out, wetting his lips and Bluestreak’s thumb in the process. “Yes, master.” He ex-vented sharply, the wet warmth of it teasing Bluestreak’s thumb.   
  
“But you can wait, can’t you?” Bluestreak stroked Jazz’s lips again, though his gaze was continually drawn southward, to the roll of Jazz’s hips and the wet glide of puffy valve lips against his armor. He swore that his thigh tingled.   
  
A low whine rose in Jazz’s vocalizer before it was locked away. “O-of course, master,” he said, with only a bit of stutter. “If that’s what ya want.” Frustration, however, leaked into the edges of his field. Frustration and glee alike.   
  
Jazz both hated and loved to be denied. There was a sweet ache to be found in Bluestreak withholding overload from him. But he was, above all else, a hedonist, and he still wanted that release in the end.   
  
Bluestreak tugged Jazz closer, until their lips barely brushed. “What I want is for you to stop,” he said and his spark throbbed with need as Jazz shuddered and forced himself into stillness, though he trembled atop Bluestreak.   
  
His fans roared, his vents open to maximum. His thighs rattled where they clamped around Bluestreak, and he swore he could feel Jazz’s spark pulse through the throbbing of his valve.   
  
Bluestreak kissed him, letting their lips brush together, their glossas carefully touch. He kept it slow and savoring as he stroked his free hand down Jazz’s nearest thigh. Jazz ex-vented scorching heat, and it blasted against Bluestreak’s fingertips. His field was a frenzy of riotous need, and it was intoxicating.   
  
He moaned into Bluestreak’s mouth, into the kiss. Yet, he kept still. If Bluestreak didn’t count the trembling and the charge painting his substructure at any rate.   
  
Bluestreak ended the kiss with a nuzzle to Jazz’s face, in-venting the scent of Jazz’s arousal and desperation. “You are so obedient,” he murmured as he brushed his lips over Jazz’s cheek.   
  
Jazz scooted closer by a few inches, a wriggle that Bluestreak allowed because it was so damn sexy and it made their bumpers bump together. He pressed a messy kiss to the curve of Bluestreeak’s jaw, ex-venting more wet heat.   
  
“Good enough to earn mah reward?” he murmured.   
  
Bluestreak tilted Jazz’s jaw upward and nosed into his pet’s intake, nibbling on the sensitive cables there. He could feel Jazz’s restrained charge against his lips, and smelled the ozone of it as well. His spark throbbed harder, his free hand sliding up Jazz’s thigh and brushing fingers ever so briefly over his rigid spike.   
  
Jazz whined, hips stuttering forward before he caught himself and sank back, valve scrubbing along Bluestreak’s thigh.   
  
“Do it,” Bluestreak said, his words unexpectedly fierce but Primus, sometimes Jazz did things to him. Tested his control in all the best ways.   
  
He tightened his grip on Jazz’s jaw, forcing Jazz to look at him, intoxicated by the bright sheen of need in Jazz’s visor.   
  
“Overload just like this, on my thigh,” Bluestreak growled, his ventilations coming in sharper pants as the heat over his armor doubled its intensity. The smell of lubricant was as heady as the press of Jazz’s field. “Give me a good show, pet. If you do, I’ll take off that ring and make use of your spike.”   
  
Jazz’s glossa swept over his lips. He started to move, hips rocking and grinding down on Bluestreak’s thigh, lubricant making obscenely wet noises as his biolights pulsed faster and faster.   
  
“Yes, master,” he breathed as his hips danced and his field sang to Bluestreak, humming his affection and his arousal both. “Whatever ya want.”   
  
Bluestreak purred and brushed their lips together, drowning in the submission Jazz offered him. “Mmm. I love it when you say that.”   
  
“I know.” Jazz nipped at his lips, his motions more erratic and hurried, his engine revving hard enough to vibrate both their frames. “S’why I say it.”   
  
“Cheeky pet.” Bluestreak squeezed Jazz’s thigh, thumb digging into a narrow transformation seam and pushing at the cables beneath.   
  
Jazz groaned and pressed hard against Bluestreak’s chassis, the wet slap of his valve on Bluestreak’s thigh like an erotic melody. His engine reached a higher pitch, the ripple in his field evidence that he neared his peak.   
  
“W-what’s my reward?” Jazz asked, his thighs clamped hard on Bluestreak’s, his hips canted forward to scrape his nub over a transformation seam, again and again. Each little drag made his plating flutter, and his frame shiver.   
  
Bluestreak chuckled. “Overload and find out.” He gripped Jazz’s thigh, thumb pressing inward hard, stabbing down against Jazz’s substructure.   
  
Jazz gasped and slammed down, a low whine rising in his throat. He lost his balance and tilted forward, chassis resting against Bluestreak’s bumper as he panted, body trembling in overload. His field sparked through the room like a flash-fire, catching Bluestreak in a wave of heat and need. More lubricant spilled from his valve, soaking Bluestreak’s thigh.   
  
Bluestreak growled. He jerked Jazz’s face up toward his and kissed him, his mouth devouring his pet’s with nothing short of a claim. Jazz whimpered into the kiss, his frame still trembling from the force of his overload, the tilt of it scraping the head of his spike against Bluestreak’s armor.   
  
“My turn,” Bluestreak nearly snarled against Jazz’s lips.   
  
He grabbed at Jazz’s hips and he heaved, grateful as always that Jazz was slightly smaller than him. And it helped that Jazz was dazed by pleasure, making it easier to slip him off Bluestreak’s thigh and sprawl him across the berth. His hands were still cuffed behind him, but Jazz still managed to catch himself with his elbows. If he was in any pain, his field didn’t show it and he didn’t ping Bluestreak’s comm, which meant all was well.   
  
His spike bobbed in the air, pressurized and dripping, the biolights so bright that they looked painful.   
  
Luckily, Bluestreak had just the solution for that.   
  
His panels snapped open even as he crawled up Jazz’s legs and straddled Jazz’s hips, his valve cycling hungrily and dripping lubricant onto Jazz’s spike. Jazz groaned, head tilting back, hips bucking upward.   
  
Bluestreak tilted forward, hands bracketed to either side of his pet, their bumpers within inches. “Is this reward enough?” he asked as he rolled his hips, painting Jazz’s spike in his lubricant, and teasing himself with the rub of Jazz’s spikehead over his dripping, swollen rim.   
  
Jazz’s backstrut arched and his engine revved louder. “P-please,” he stammered, and licked his lips, his visor such a deep blue that it resembled the ocean.   
  
Bluestreak kissed him, again, because he couldn’t not. And he couldn’t keep teasing himself either, not with arousal thundering in his lines and his doorwings twitching madly. Why should he torment himself as well as Jazz when he didn’t have to?   
  
Jazz moaned into the kiss, a moan that doubled in volume when Bluestreak canted his hips, caught the head of Jazz’s spike, and finally sank down. He shuddered as Jazz’s spike cleaved a path through his calipers, spreading them and stretching them one by one, his spike so pressurized that it throbbed to the beat of Jazz’s spark.   
  
Bluestreak’s internal nodes lit up like fireworks. His valve clenched and squeezed, latching onto Jazz’s spike immediately. He didn’t delay, couldn’t truth be told, and immediately started fragging himself on Jazz’s spike. He lifted and dropped his hips, taking Jazz deeper each time, moaning as charge zinged back and forth between node and receptor.   
  
Jazz thrashed beneath him, engine revving to its highest pitch yet. His field clawed back toward overload, and he gasped out a plea as the ring kept him from enjoying it.   
  
“Please, babe, _please_ ,” Jazz begged, and the sound of it did things to Bluestreak. Dark and terrible things that he only swallowed down by the fiercest of vicious control.   
  
He paused in his frantic motions only long enough to reach between their frames and his thighs. He fumbled briefly before his fingers located the ring and flicked the button to disengage it. The ring popped free with a click, and Jazz bucked up beneath him, a near-violent shudder racing through his entire frame.   
  
Bluestreak growled a moan and dropped down on Jazz, taking him to the hilt once more. He braced his hands on the berth to either side of his pet, stealing Jazz’s lips, doing his best not to smother the smaller mech beneath him. His valve swallowed Jazz’s spike, clamping down around it, slurping up the charge Jazz offered.   
  
“Overload,” Bluestreak demanded against Jazz’s lips as Jazz keened, his backstrut arching, his engine roaring. “Do it!”   
  
Heat splattered inside Bluestreak’s valve. Jazz thrashed, hips bucking up in stuttered bursts as he overloaded, his transfluid searing as it washed over Bluestreak’s lining and splattered his ceiling node.   
  
Primus, he was gorgeous. Everything about him was hot as the Pit.   
  
Bluestreak shivered as the surge of transfluid crackled over his nodes, carrying charge with it, which his receptors eagerly swallowed. He moaned, hips rocking in stuttered bursts, as his valve clamped down on Jazz’s spike, milking it for every last drop of transfluid.   
  
Bluestreak leaned forward, tilting his frame, adjusting the angle and moaned as his anterior node cluster caught on Jazz’s armor. Pleasure zinged through him like a lightning bolt and sent him soaring straight into overload.   
  
Bluestreak sank to his elbows, his frame moving of its own accord as the tremors raced through his lines. His valve clenched around Jazz’s spike, making Jazz twitch beneath him, and his doorwings hung taut from his hinges. The overload left him gasping, his frame weak and shaky, vents spilling heat into his quarters.   
  
Jazz’s spike slipped from his valve as Bluestreak tilted to the side, trying not to crush Jazz beneath his weight. He flicked his right panel out of the way and slumped to the berth next to Jazz, cuddled up close to his partner.   
  
“I love it when I make ya lose control,” Jazz said, his vocalizer stripped with static as his fans whirred and chugged along.   
  
Bluestreak chuckled tiredly. “I know you do, you menace. I swear you do it on purpose every time. Like you make it a personal challenge or something.”   
  
“Mmm. Maybe I do.” Jazz wriggled his hips enticingly, one leg curling around Bluestreak’s waist as he arched against him. “So hot when you let go like that. When ya give in. Makes me feel powerful.”   
  
“That’s because you are.” Bluestreak nuzzled Jazz’s face, in-venting the scent of his lover. “The most powerful mech I know.” His hand swept down Jazz’s side, teasing over the dips and seams of Jazz’s frame.   
  
Jazz shivered, pressing harder against him. “Babe, I am _all_ up for another round, but any chance we could do it without the cuffs?”   
  
Bluestreak’s optics widened. Heat stole into his face. He muttered a curse and forced his frame upright, hand sloppy as it slid around to Jazz’s back and hit the quick-release for the cuffs. They instantly popped open, freeing Jazz’s wrists, and he sighed with relief.   
  
“Primus, I’m so sorry, Jazz,” Bluestreak said as he eased Jazz onto his back, fingers dipping into the other mech’s shoulders to stroke over what cabling he could reach. “I can’t believe I let myself get out of control like that. You’re not hurt, are you? Primus, Ratchet’s gonna kill me.”   
  
Jazz chuckled and patted him on the bumper with one hand. “I’m fine. Seriously. I don’t even hurt.”   
  
Guilt swamped Bluestreak, and his doorwings dipped. “That’s not the point.” He continued to stroke Jazz’s shoulders, and probed Jazz’s field. Sometimes, Jazz lied to him if he thought it would spare Bluestreak’s feelings. “It’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t get hurt, and forgetting to take off the cuffs is a big no-no.”  
  
Jazz curled his fingers under Bluestreak’s bumper and tugged, yanking Bluestreak down closer to him until he could nip at Bluestreak’s nasal ridge. “And I’m telling ya, I’m fine,” he said, stressing the last of it. “Though if you’re really feeling guilty, you can always make it up to me.”   
  
“Oh, really?” Amusement trickled in, replacing some of the guilt. “And what did you have in mind?” Bluestreak had the distinct feeling he’d just been led into a trap. Which given who his partner was, he shouldn’t be so surprised.   
  
“Well, for starters...” Jazz paused to roll up against Bluestreak, his damp valve leaving a streak of lubricant behind. “Ya can give me another overload.” His hands slid around to Bluestreak’s back, tweaking his panel hinges. “Or two.”   
  
“Or three, or four, you greedy hedonist,” Bluestreak replied with a roll of his optics. He nosed into Jazz’s intake, nibbling over the heated cables and tasting the charge on his glossa. “Give me something hard, Jazz. What else?”   
  
Jazz wriggled until he straddled Bluestreak’s thigh, rolling his hips to scrub his valve along an armor plate. “Nothing,” he said and yanked Bluestreak closer, until their armor screeched together and they shared ventilations. “Just you, babe. You and me and… well, maybe that toy, too. Ya know the one I like.”   
  
Bluestreak chuckled and lifted his head, pressing his chevron to Jazz’s forehead. “Yes, I do.” He slid a hand down Jazz’s thigh and cupped his aft. “It’s a deal.”   
  
Jazz shivered and arched up against him. His field unfolded, fuzzy tendrils grasping onto Bluestreak’s own and reeling him in, not that he didn’t want to surrender to Jazz’s gravitational pull.   
  
“Ya really do love me best, babe,” Jazz said with a happy sigh.   
  
Bluestreak’s spark throbbed. “With all my spark,” he murmured and tipped his head to capture Jazz’s lips for a soft and sweet kiss, one that Jazz melted into, with all the relaxation and trust a mech like him could spare.   
  
To Bluestreak, it was worth more than anything in the world.


End file.
